


be honest, you want this

by Bellelaide



Category: Men’s Football RPF
Genre: M/M, holiday au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 02:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20350852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: Harry gets dragged on a family holiday to Benidorm. He’s going out of his mind with boredom - until a new family turn up to the hotel.





	be honest, you want this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustinTimberlake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustinTimberlake/gifts).

> what baby wants, baby gets!!!

Somehow, every year without fail, Harry’s parents roped him into going on holiday with them. 

He was 23 and should be going on lads holidays with his mates, for fucks sake, but he couldn’t say no when his mum looked at him with unbridled excitement and said “How about Benidorm this year, Harry?!” 

So that was how he found himself in Spain, in an all inclusive hotel, bored out of his fucking mind. The pool had been fun at first, splashing about with Millie, his little sister, and seeing how many times in a row he could jump onto the lilo without falling off. But then Millie started insisting he let _her_ have the lilo, and Harry frowned and said “No way! I had it first, and besides, I paid for it!” And then his dad came to the edge of the pool and hissed “Give your little sister the fucking lilo, Harry!”

Harry climbed out the pool and stomped off on his own. At first his rage was enough to fuel him - his dad _always_ let Millie have her way, and it was so fucking unfair - but after a couple of minutes he found he was really bored. He’d left his phone and his book and his shoes on his sun bed, so he was left to wander around the cold air conditioned hotel in his damp swimming trunks. 

Harry meandered through the marble reception, sticking his head around corners to check there were no bustling Spanish ladies to tell him off. He found a huge indoor entertainment room, and he stepped onto the stage and looked out at the empty chairs with his heart thudding steadily in his ears. Harry cautiously tiptoed backstage, into a world of costumes and feather boas and stage makeup. He ran his hands over sequins and velvet and shiny leather, wondering if he should apply to become hotel entertainment somewhere. It’d certainly get him the hell away from his dad, anyway. 

But he’d miss his mum too much, and besides, Harry couldn’t really sing or dance or speak any other languages aside from the arbitrary Spanish he’d picked up from his grandparents over the years. Quietly he crept out of the entertainment room, letting the door click shut behind him. 

Harry found an abandoned dining room, a chaplaincy and a string of offices before he decided he wasn’t furious at his father anymore and would quite like to keep reading his book in the sun. He made his way back in the direction of the reception, only panicking that he was lost for a split second before he found it, the quiet hubbub of the hotel guiding him back to humanity. 

He stopped on his way back to the pool when a brochure caught his eye. It was advertising a water park, and he looked at it carefully, wondering if he could convince his family to go here for a day trip, when he spotted him. 

A series of new guests were spilling in through the revolving door, all looking tired and rumpled from travel but excited nonetheless. How could they not be? They were in Benidorm, Europe’s Las Vegas. The sun was shining, the union jacks were flying, and - there, at the back of the group, wheeling a suitcase with two fingers and eyeing the hotel like he was less than impressed was a boy. 

He was around Harry’s age, probably, and he had tattoos and long legs and an interesting chin. Harry gawped at him - there was no one else his age here, not a soul - and found himself turning beetroot when the guy grimaced at Harry as if to say _what the fuck are you staring at?_

Harry stuck his head back in his brochure and made his way out of the lobby, out towards the pool and his family, away from embarrassing himself in front of hot boys. When he approached the sun beds he saw with a flare of rage that Millie wasn’t even using the lilo, after all, and they’d all gotten ice creams without thinking of Harry. 

“Harry, love,” his mum said around a Calippo. “Where did you get off to?” 

“Sulking like the queen he is,” his dad muttered, and Harry bit his tongue so hard he tasted copper. 

“I had to poo,” he offered, clambering onto his bed and picking up his book. 

“Ew,” whispered Millie.

“Okay, darling,” his mum said breezily. “We’re going to go up to the room and get showered for dinner shortly, alright?” 

Harry nodded, feeling his eyes fill with tears, though he wasn’t sure why. “Okay, mum.” 

He was too old for these holidays. This had to be the last time. And it would be the last time, he told himself as he stood in the shower that night. He told himself as much again when he let his mum rub after sun into his back, he repeated the mantra when his dad chastised him for his dinner choices - fucking chips again, Harry?! - he muttered it under his breath when his dad told him no, he wasn’t ordering the frozen Piña Colada, he could get a beer like a bloke. Harry got himself to sleep that night with the phrase rolling repeatedly around his brain. This is the last time. This is the last time. _This is the last time._

** 

Things were always different after a good sleep, though. The human brain has a wonderful way of resetting itself, and Harry woke up feeling lighter, less full of stormy grey clouds and more full of the sunshine he usually felt. 

He joined his family for breakfast - he chose fresh fruit and a strawberry yoghurt, ignoring the looks it earned him from his full English eating dad - and lay down on his sun bed like a cat in a particularly warm ray of sun, stretching his toes and his fingers and putting Drake’s newest album on shuffle. 

He must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew Millie was shaking cold pool water all over his back and kicking the end of his sun bed repeatedly. 

“Come in the pool with me!” She whined, tugging an earphone out of his ear. “Come on!” 

“I was sunbathing,” Harry grumbled, but he did feel a bit too hot. “God sake, Mill.” 

“Come on, Harry. I’m bored! I want to swim.” 

“Fine,” Harry sighed, sitting up. “But I’m having the lilo.” 

They splashed about for a bit, took turns trying to flip each other off the lilo like it was a bucking bronco, raced to see who could swim from one side of the pool to the other the fastest. Harry was seeing how long he could hold his breath underwater for when Millie kicked him and said “Who’s mum talking to?” 

Harry wiped chlorine out of his eyes and peered over at their parents. His mum was in conversation with another woman, both of their husbands talking awkwardly whilst holding plastic cups of beer. The woman had a young girl with her - a daughter, Harry assumed - and they were chatting away like they’d known each other for years. 

“Dunno,” Harry said with a shrug. “Mum must’ve made a pal.” 

“I’m going to talk to them,” Millie said suddenly. “Maybe the holiday’ll be less boring if we have friends!” 

Harry watched her swim to the edge of the pool and then hoist herself over the edge, approaching their mother and sitting down next to her on the edge of the sun bed. Harry sighed and followed her, knowing he’d get it in the neck if he didn’t. He squelched over and sat down on his bed, smiling over at the new friends. 

“And this is my eldest, Harry!” 

“Hi,” Harry waved awkwardly. 

“Hello! I’m Sally,” The woman beamed. “Your mum says you’re 23? You’ll have to meet my son! He’s 23 too!” 

Harry’s heart soared a little bit at that. Finally, a friend! “Nice,” he smiled.

“He’s gone round to the bar,” she supplied, peering across the pool. “Should be back any minute.” 

Harry listened half heartedly as the women continued to chatter - about their past experiences on holiday, about all inclusive versus self catering. Harry was about to put his earphones back in when Sally exclaimed “Here he is now!” 

Harry’s heart simultaneously sank and swelled when he saw who Sally was waving at. Her son was the guy from the reception yesterday, because of course he was - and he was walking round the pool like a bloody model, skin shining in the sunlight, glasses perched on his face casually. 

“Dele! I’ve just got talking to this family, and they’ve got a son your age! This is Harry.” 

Harry scrambled up off the sun bed and got to his feet, quickly smoothing down his hair and beaming up at Sally’s son. He wasn’t sure if the guy would go for a handshake or a hug, or maybe just ask Harry if he wanted to get right into the pool. 

All Dele did, in the end, was nod once at Harry before sitting down on his own sun bed and stick his earphones in, looking steadfastly in the other direction. 

“He’s a bit shy,” Sally offered, and Harry smiled at her. 

“That’s okay,” he said carefully, sitting back down on his own bed. “So am I.” 

So he probably wasn’t going to have any friends, then. Harry took out his phone and noticed a text from Eric, his bestest friend in the entire world, and he had to ignore the urge to phone him up and cry about how awful this whole holiday was. 

Eric: how’s Benidorm Winksy? 

Harry: awful lol :( wish we went to Budapest instead like u said 

He locked his phone and stuck it under his towel so it didn’t overheat, put his earphones back in, and tried to focus on Drake’s A side. 

** 

“We’re going out for dinner with the Hickfords tonight!” 

Harry groaned. “But - we’re all inclusive!” 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a nice meal, Harry,” his mum said as she ironed her white linen trousers on the end of the bed. “It’s nice to be social!” 

“You better not ruin it by going in one of your bad moods,” his dad snapped from the balcony. “Don’t embarrass us, Harry, I mean it.” 

Harry dug his fingernails into his palms and bit back a retort. “Okay, mum,” he said in a small voice. “Sounds nice.” 

It sounded horrible. That Dele guy was either extremely rude or extremely arrogant, or both. He didn’t say one word to Harry the entire day, not even when he got up and disappeared into the hotel a couple of hours ago. The thought of sitting at a dinner table with him all night was mortifying - he didn’t want the guy to think Harry had anything to do with this, or that he was the type of person who enjoyed going on holiday with his parents and his little sister at age 23. 

When they met the Hickfords in the lobby at exactly 7:30pm, Harry did so with a grimace on his face, hoping it’d convey the message to Dele that Harry was just as cool and aloof as he was. He managed to maintain this expression for all of twenty seconds before he was smiling sweetly - Sally was just so nice - and stealing secret glances at Dele. 

He was so fit, was the problem, and he was wearing shorts and a loose basketball vest and he had a full tattoo sleeve, basically, and he was quite muscly in an understated, skinny way, and Harry wanted to suck his dick despite how awful his personality was. 

They walked down to the beachfront together, Harry walking awkwardly next to his dad and Dele’s dad, unable to find something to add to their conversation about the inevitable closure of the Steel industry. He could hear Dele talking to Millie and his own sister, which was making him furious. What was wrong with Harry?! Why was Dele so standoffish? It just wasn’t very kind. 

They chose a restaurant that served happy hour cocktails and English food. Harry wanted tapas, but he sat down dutifully, somehow being corralled into a seat opposite Dele, next to his mum and his sister. He perused the menu carefully, deciding on a burger and chips fairly quickly. When the waitress came over to take the drinks orders, he was prepared to ask for a pint of Estrella, but then he stopped. His dad was at the other end of the table, and he’d surely not start anything in front of their new friends. When the waitress got to him, Harry said quietly “Strawberry daiquiri, please,” and ignored his dad’s burning gaze. 

He looked instead at Dele, who was smirking slightly. “I’ll have one of those too, please,” he said, and Harry felt himself smiling in response. Was this a truce? 

But then Dele never said anything else, scrolling instead on his phone and looking out at the beach like he’d rather be anywhere else. When the drinks came out, all the cocktails had sparklers and little umbrellas in them, and Harry grinned delightedly as the waitress set his down in front of him, the crackling light of it shining in his eyes. It was sweet and cold and full of rum, the weirdest combination of cool and warmth sliding down his throat. 

“Cheers, everyone,” Sally said, holding her drink in the middle of the table. 

Harry raised his own glass, knocking the edge of it against everyone else’s. When he got to Dele, he was staring intently at Harry’s eyes, and the old superstition about seven years bad sex swept Harry’s mind, making him blush. 

“This drink is good. Nice one, Freckles,” Dele said, sitting back in his chair. 

“Oh. Thanks,” Harry said, a little confused by the nickname. 

But Dele didn’t seem to be listening, back on his phone again. Harry took an extra large gulp of his drink, and tried not to let Dele bother him. 

Some time after his third daiquiri, it occurred to Harry that he was a little bit drunk. He knew his face was flushed with alcohol and he couldn’t stop smiling, laughing with his mum and Millie when they told the story of Harry’s dad being selected for extra checks at the airport, nodding along happily to the Spanish music being played across the restaurant. 

Dele didn’t seem to be as drunk as Harry was, but he wasn’t on his phone anymore, and instead seemed to be listening to the conversation taking place at the table. Harry kept stealing glances at him, encouraged by the alcohol, marvelling at the way his face glowed like honey in the light of the setting sun behind them. Before he could stop himself, Harry leaned forward and asked “What do you do in England?” 

Dele blinked at Harry slowly, like he hadn’t understood, and Harry was about to repeat his question when Dele said “Sport science at the uni of Bedfordshire.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, smiling widely. “That’s sick! What’s your sport?” 

“Football,” Dele said flatly. 

“Nice! Who’s your team? I’m a Spurs fan, we all are -“ 

“Liverpool.” 

“Oh,” Harry said. “What do you think about City’s fine?” 

But Dele was on his phone again, and Harry was biting his bottom lip sadly, and then Dele pushed back his chair abruptly and said “I’m off, mum,” kissing Sally on the side of the head. “See you, freckles,” he added, nodding down at Harry, and then he was gone. 

Harry was left there in a state of shock. Gone where? Where had Dele just upped and disappeared to in the middle of Benidorm? He wanted to ask but he didn’t want to look weird. He wished he had somewhere to go to himself, wished he was able to just get up and go somewhere like he was someone cool and grown up and independent. Instead he sat there, moping, staring at the empty seat across from him and wishing he hadn’t drank quite so many cocktails. 

** 

Harry had a bad headache the next morning, and his dad knew it. 

“That’s what you get for drinking sugary shit like that,” he said, standing at the foot of Harry’s little travel bed. “That’s why you drink beer! Men drink beer!” 

“Oh, leave him alone, Gary,” his mum interjected. “He’s on holiday! He wanted a cocktail!” 

“It’s just not right,” his dad grumbled, but thankfully he moved away from Harry’s bed. Harry pulled the sheets over his head and sighed. Never again, never again, never again. Never going on a family holiday again. 

He managed to drift in and out of sleep at the pool all day, which was a win. Some time in the afternoon he got into the pool and sank under the water, holding his breath, letting the sounds of the hotel disappear for a couple of seconds. He blew out a few bubbles and watched them rise to the surface, wishing he could stay down here forever and ever. Maybe he could, maybe he could let himself become one with the water, let it fill him up and take him, and then he’d belong to it forever, like a mermaid or a fish or something, and he was considering inhaling it, a mouthful of turquoise blue, when a pair of legs stopped right next to him. Harry rose to the surface, spluttering, water in his eyes, preventing his vision, but he could see that that was Dele. 

“Should I be worried?” Dele asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“No,” Harry gasped, gripping the wall to anchor himself, swiping his wet fringe off his forehead. “No, I was just - it doesn’t matter. Hi.” 

“Hi, freckles.” 

“Where did you go last night?” Harry asked suddenly, squinting into the sunlight. 

“Went to FaceTime my girlfriend,” Dele said, resting his arms on the wall of the pool. 

Harry felt his heart fall through his chest, down his leg, falling in a sad slump of red tissue in his heel. _Fuck._ Of course he was straight. Harry tried to stop his face from crumpling, but it was hard. It wasn’t fucking fair, being gay. None of it was fair. Why wasn’t everyone just open to whatever? Why did heterosexuality need to exist?! He fucking hated it. 

“Oh. Right.” 

“Well, less of a girlfriend, more of a... we’re on and off. Currently off, but she still insists I FaceTime her a couple times a week.” 

Harry didn’t care to hear about the bullshit behaviours of straight people, so he said nothing, instead mimicking Dele’s position, chin dipping into the water. 

“You were drunk last night, freckles.” 

“It’s - it’s Harry, actually. My mates call me Winksy, if you’d rather -“ 

“_Winksy?_” Dele scoffed. “I’m gonna call you freckles.” 

Harry could feel himself growing irritated. This guy was rude, obnoxious, and straight, so why was Harry bothering? “Listen, Dele -“ 

“Wanna go for a drink tonight on our own? Ditch the families, I mean. They’re boring. And your dad seems like a twat.” 

Harry felt a flare of defensiveness for his dad, but then he realised Dele was right and he swallowed it. “Uh, yeah, okay. When?” 

“Nine,” Dele said. “See you in the lobby, freckles.” 

Harry watched as Dele pushed his glistening body out of the pool, shorts low slung on his hips. When he was gone, Harry sank back to the bottom of the pool, letting out a silent scream into the water.

** 

Dele was twenty minutes late to meet Harry at the agreed place. 

Harry got ready with painstaking attention to detail, picking out his new white Fred Perry that showed off his tan, styling his hair into the perfect rolled back quiff. His mum had been delighted when he announced he was going out with Dele, and his dad just snorted and said “Maybe he can show you how to act like a bloke.” 

Harry drank a couple at the all inclusive with his family, knee jumping with anticipation, and then at 8:55 on the dot he said his goodbyes and made his way to the lobby, palms sweating a bit. 

8:55 became 9:00, which then became 9:10, and Harry started panicking that he’d been stood up - maybe Dele was hiding behind a corner filming this, going to humiliate him, and Harry was about to leave when Dele came breezing out of the lifts, dressed in a blue Balenciaga tshirt and white shorts, socks pulled up his shins. He looked good, and Harry knew he’d look awful if he tried to wear something like that, but it didn’t matter because Dele was _here._

“Shall we?” Dele said, nodding at the doors. 

Harry followed him, words stuck in his throat. Normally he was such a chatter box, couldn’t stop talking, but Dele made him so nervous that he didn’t want to say something stupid to shatter the whole illusion, give Dele a reason to avoid Harry for the remainder of the holiday. 

They walked in silence for a few moments, and then Dele turned to Harry and said “Why Spurs?” And Harry seized the opening with both hands. 

He waxed lyrical about his team all the way to the bar, and Dele grinned and nodded and asked questions where it was appropriate, and before Harry knew it they were sat down and Dele had ordered for them. 

It was a bar with thumping music, the kind that sold fishbowls and wanted to be Ibiza but just couldn’t pull it off. Harry was quietly taking it all in when the waitress brought a tray to their table, setting two baby blue fish bowls in front of them, as well as four shots of a clear liquid. 

“What is this?!” Harry asked over the music. “I wanted a cider!” 

“You’re on holiday!” Dele laughed, nudging a shot at Harry. “It’s Sambucca. Cheers!” 

Harry had never shotted anything other than Cherry Sours before, and he grimaced as he brought the little glass to his lips, squeezing his eyes closed and tipping it into his mouth. It tasted of aniseed and it was awful, burning Harry’s mouth. He gagged and set the glass down on the table, following Dele’s lead and chasing it with a gulp from his fishbowl. 

“Fuck sake, freckles,” Dele laughed. “Let’s play never have I ever.” 

“Okay,” Harry said uncertainly. This was a sure fire way to out himself, and he didn’t want to scare Dele off by being a bender. He decided to twist the truth a little bit - there was no one here to fact check him, after all. “You first.” 

“Never have I ever had a threesome.” 

Harry watched as Dele leaned down and drank a finger of his bowl, eyes glinting. “Oh, freckles. You’ve never lived.” 

Harry could barely find one guy to fuck, never mind _two._ “Never have I ever cheated on someone?” 

Dele didn’t drink to that, which surprised Harry. “Good boy,” Dele said, and Harry felt his ears burn. “Okay. Never have I ever... had sex in public.” 

Harry’d had a hand job off some old guy in the toilet at Twisty’s in Manchester, and that kind of counted, so he leaned down and took a hearty drink. So did Dele, and Harry willed him not to ask to exchange stories. 

“Never have I ever had sex in the shower?” 

Dele drank, Harry didn’t. 

“Never have I ever wanked on someone’s tits?” 

Harry’d had some guy wank on his chest before, so he drank. 

“Never have I ever had sex in Benidorm.” 

Neither of them drank, and Harry ignored the happiness he felt at that. 

“Never have I ever kissed a member of the same sex.” 

Harry paused, waiting. Dele looked at him levelly and then drank, and Harry’s mind swam as he followed suite. 

“Gotta kiss your mates on a night out,” Dele supplied. “Not a good night otherwise, is it?” 

“Yeah,” Harry laughed uncertainly. “Definitely.” 

Eventually they stopped asking questions because they were sufficiently drunk enough for conversation to flow freely. Harry felt glowy and light, giggling as he thought of the blue liquid swishing about in his belly. Dele laughed as Harry told stories about his job as a nursery teacher, stories of poos lurking at the back of Wendy houses and little girls fist fighting over dollies. 

Harry couldn’t stop staring at the way the lights were bouncing off Dele’s face, his lips wet and thick with alcohol. The only thing Harry remembered after the second shot of Sambucca was Dele pulling him onto the dance floor, leaning in to say that Harry was a fucking lightweight, and maybe that he was really cute, Harry couldn’t be sure. They danced together to a house remix of Dancing Queen by ABBA, and Harry found himself drifting closer, was sure he remembered Dele pressing himself up against Harry’s back and grinding on him, hands on Harry’s hips, but it was blurry and Harry didn’t know if it was a fantasy or reality. 

He woke up in his own bed, his mum leaning over him. “You okay, love?” 

Harry’s head was banging. “No,” he croaked, unsticking his eyelids. “I need water.” 

“Get up and get some then,” Millie said in a sing song voice. “You threw up last night, do you remember? Dad’s fuming.” 

Harry had sudden flashbacks to bright blue vomit down his fresh white polo, eyes stinging with tears, the taste of Sambucca in his mouth. Then he remembered Dele’s big hand rubbing his back, leading him back to the hotel room. Harry thinks he might’ve begged Dele not to go, to stay in here with him, and he groaned in humiliation. 

“Are you coming to the pool, love?” His mum asked. 

“Not right now,” Harry said, burrowing into the mattress. “Later.” 

“Waste of a day,” he heard his dad huffing. “Spending it inside. Fucking waste of my money, that’s what it is.” 

Harry ignored him, and fell back asleep. 

** 

When he made his way down to the pool, the sun was high in the sky, and his head was thumping. 

“Here he is!” Sally exclaimed. “Good night, son?” 

“Yeah,” Harry smiled at her, flopping down on a sun bed. “Bit poorly today, mind.” 

“Dele forgets not everyone is a six foot two bean pole,” Sally said. “I refuse to drink with him. It always ends in tears.” 

Harry laughed politely and scanned for Dele. He was in the pool, lounging near the deep end, face tilted up to the sun. Harry didn’t want to go near him, scared of what the reception would be, but he also couldn’t stand to sit here and draw out the inevitable. He’d rather just rip off the plaster. 

Harry slipped into the pool and swam over to Dele, the water nice on his sore limbs. Dele opened his eyes when Harry approached and he smiled lazily. “Freckles!” 

“Hi,” Harry said, swimming to the wall and hanging on. “Sorry about last night. I was -“ 

“Don’t apologise,” Dele said. “You were hilarious.” 

_Hilarious._ It wasn’t ideal. “Oh,” he said. “Okay then. I didn’t do anything, uh, embarrassing?” 

“No, not at all,” Dele smiled, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief to the gods. “Apart from - you told me about that Instagram account your friends made. Celebrating your arse. And how every gay man in a 60 mile radius of Hemel Hempstead wants to, uh, ‘eat it out.’” 

Harry felt his face drain white. “No,” he hissed, body running cold. “No, I didn’t. No, no, no -“ 

“It’s fine,” Dele laughed. “I don’t care you’re gay. It was funny, the story.” 

“I want to die,” Harry wailed, deep embarrassment lapping over him in waves. “Oh my GOD.” 

“You also - since we’re doing this - you were telling everyone in the bar you’ve got a 9 inch dick. I had to stop you from getting it out.” 

“I’m going,” Harry said suddenly, turning and attempting to flee. 

“Freckles!” Dele laughed, grabbing him by the elbow and holding him still. “It’s honestly not that bad. It was brilliant!” 

“It’s humiliating!” Harry cried, covering his face with his hands. “I’m a laughing stock!” 

“Aw freckles,” Dele laughed delightedly, pulling him closer, hand slipping from his elbow to his wrist, moving his hand from his face and squeezing reassuringly. “Who cares! You’ll never see these people again. Fuck it.” 

Harry wanted to say something about smartphones and British people living on a tiny little island where word spreads fast, but he couldn’t think clearly when Dele was holding his hand like that, thumb swiping over the back of Harry’s hand steadily. A moment was passing between them, Harry thought, as he looked up at Dele and saw kindness in his eyes. Then Dele let his hand go and looked away, slipping back behind a wall, the moment gone. 

Harry breathed out deeply, gathered his thoughts. “Uh - are we - tonight? What you doing tonight?” 

“My family’s going to the old town for dinner,” Dele said, and Harry was disappointed again. “Probably gonna be up there all night.” 

“Cool,” Harry said, trying not to be a baby and cry. “Well, enjoy. Let me know how it is.” 

“Will do,” Dele said, tilting his face back up to the sun, signalling that this was over. 

Harry pushed himself out of the pool and retreated to his sun bed, pulling his towel over his head and biting down on the insides of his cheeks, hard. 

He spent the entirety of his night drinking water and ignoring his family, focussing instead on the memory of a pair of hands on his hips, so fucking sure it wasn’t a dream. 

** 

“Do you want to go out with the Hickfords tonight, kids?” Harry’s mum asked over lunch the next day. 

“Yes!” Harry said, much too quickly, his cheeks heating. “I mean, yeah. They’re nice.” 

“Harry’s got a crush!” Millie shouted, and Harry glared at her. 

“Shut up!” 

“They’ve invited us out to see an Elvis tribute,” Harry’s mum said, ignoring her bickering kids. “Sounds fun, I think.” 

Harry chose a red polo that night, pleased with how it looked against his tanned skin. Every day he was on holiday, more freckles appeared across his face, and that was less than ideal. It made him look younger than he was, which was annoying, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

He was excited as they made their way to the bar the Hickfords would be at, his heart beating happily in his chest. Dele wasn’t at the pool all day, and Harry couldn’t wait to see him, couldn’t wait to see what they’d get up to tonight - except, when they got into the bar, everyone was there _but Dele_. 

Harry tried not to panic - maybe he was at the toilet - but then Sally was saying ‘Dele’s staying at the hotel tonight, he’s tired,’ and Harry was crumpling, absolutely gutted, sadder than he had been when Spurs lost the champions league. He shook his head when his mum asked if he wanted a Mai Tai, slumped in his chair, hating this. He didn’t even like Elvis. He wanted to go home and have a good old cry. 

The night was brutally slow. Elvis came out and crooned at them as Harry’s dad sang along drunkly, making Millie squirm. Sally and Harry’s mum clapped along happily, and Harry kept checking the time on his phone, wondering when he’d be able to get to bed and just pass out. 

He was counting the tiles on the ceiling - 374 - when Sally exclaimed “Dele, love!” 

Harry sat up straight. He daren’t turn around in case it was some kind of cruel joke or hallucination, but then - 

“Hi, mum. I’ve just come to see if freckles wants to go down the beach.” 

“Who? - Oh, Harry.” 

Harry turned around. There was Dele, a brown paper bag in his hand, half grin on his face. Harry’s own face broke out in a shit eating grin, and he was up, out of his seat, calling out a goodbye to his mum and ignoring his dad’s shouts that he couldn’t just leave. 

“Thought you were tired,” Harry said breathlessly when they were outside. 

“I was,” Dele said, going into the bag and pulling out a plastic bottle of Don Simon sangria. “But then I wasn’t. Drink?” 

Harry took the bottle and swigged at the sweet wine, feeling elated, on top of the world. “Elvis was awful.” 

“Yeah,” Dele laughed. “They go to that show every year. I’ve learned to come up with an excuse as to why I won’t be able to see it.” 

They walked in comfortable silence to the beach, passing the sangria between them back and forth. Dele led Harry over the sand and to a quiet spot behind a stack of sun beds, the ocean lapping peacefully in front of them, the Benidorm crowds minding their own business behind them. 

“Why do you agree to go on holiday with them? Your family, I mean,” Harry asked, settling down into the sand with his legs out in front of him. “I hate it. I’m never doing it again after this year.” 

Dele shrugged, looking out at the sea. “I’m adopted. I don’t know if you could tell,” he laughed sarcastically. “I’m just so grateful to Sally and Alan, for all the things they’ve done for me. I like going on holiday with them every year. I love that I actually have a family to make memories with.” 

Harry felt really shameful, suddenly, of what he’d just said. He wanted to slap himself in the face - what an insensitive, bone headed, stupid thing to say. “That’s so nice,” he said weakly, staring out at the ocean. “I feel bad - I’m sorry, for saying -“ 

“Of course not,” Dele said, nudging Harry with his elbow. “Don’t worry about it, freckles.” 

They fell silent again, but it wasn’t awkward or tense. Harry picked up the sangria and swigged it back when Dele said “You know, I was thinking. If you want to like, make out. We can.” 

Harry choked on the wine, spraying some of it out of his nose. Dele thumped him on the back, asking if he was okay, and Harry shook his head. “I’m sorry, I thought you said - do I want to what? Go swimming?” 

“No,” Dele frowned. “Kiss. If you want to kiss, we can.” 

“I’m confused -“ 

“I see the way you look at me,” Dele shrugged. “I don’t really care, it’s just a kiss. But I thought you might enjoy it.” 

Harry’s cheeks flamed. Dele was offering him a pity kiss? Oh my god, this was mortifying. “Nah, I’m alright,” Harry said bitterly. “I don’t take pity snogs.” 

Dele laughed. “Aw freckles, I didn’t mean - it’s not a pity kiss. It’s just a... a holiday kiss. Anything goes, what happens in Spain, kind of thing. Do you not want to? Did I read it wrong?” 

Read _what,_ Harry thought. He’d not done anything! “Dunno,” he said petulantly, aware he was pouting. “I feel a bit tired myself, so I might -“ 

“Shut up, freckles,” Dele grinned, taking Harry by the chin and pulling him into a kiss. 

Harry was frozen as Dele touched their lips together, soft and gentle, fingers fluttering down to Harry’s neck. 

“Kiss me back then,” Dele said against Harry’s mouth, and he jumped into action, closing his eyes and leaning into Dele. 

Harry couldn’t breathe when Dele licked into his mouth, tasting of red wine, sweet and sticky and fruity, and Harry wanted to sit here on the beach kissing this boy forever and ever ever. Dele was smiling, Harry could feel it, and it made him smile too, stomach flipping every time Dele changed the angle, breaking away for a split second to tilt his head and causing Harry to chase him, worried this was it, it was over. They kissed and kissed until Harry was dizzy with it, drunk on someone else’s saliva, on the smell of Dele’s sun kissed skin. 

He pushed his body up until he was on his knees, hands on Dele’s shoulders, and then Dele was pulling at his thigh and Harry was straddling him, and the change in angle caused Harry to realise that he was painfully hard, and before he could stop it Dele was realising too, his breath hitching against Harry’s mouth, and then he was stopping, pulling back and holding Harry’s face in his hands, thumb moving over Harry’s freckled cheeks. 

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly, eyes on Dele’s kiss swollen lips. “About, uh. It’s -“ he leaned in again, he’d rather be kissing than talking, but Dele was stopping him and Harry was blushing. 

“We’ve been kissing for twenty minutes,” Dele said, looking at Harry carefully. “I need a drink. I need to pee.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, getting off Dele’s lap awkwardly. “Yeah, me too.” 

“You’re a good kisser,” Dele offered, but Harry was too embarrassed, certain he’d scared Dele off with his big hard on. 

Harry said nothing, tucking his knees up to his chest. 

“Freckles? Don’t be annoyed,” Dele said softly, and Harry hated it. “I’m not stopping because I don’t want to, just that I think we should stop before we get... caught fucking on Benidorm beach, I don’t know.” 

Harry’s heart trilled in his chest. Fucking?! Dele wanted to fuck?! He turned around, eyes wide, and Dele crawled forward and kissed him again, just a little one, a reassurance kiss. 

“Let’s go back to the hotel, freckles. I’ve got sand in places sand shouldn’t be.” 

Harry got to his feet shakily, praying his dick wasn’t too obvious in his shorts. They walked in silence back to the hotel, Harry gazing at the curves of Dele’s shoulder blades through his T-shirt, wanting to put his hands on them, wanting to have those arms flexing beside his head whilst Dele drilled him, fucked him senseless, made him come. 

When they got back to the hotel, Dele went straight for the elevator, and Harry followed dutifully. They got inside and Dele pressed the buttons for their floors - 17 and 20 - and then the second the doors closed Dele was on him, pushing him against the wall and kissing him hungrily, moaning a little bit when Harry found one of Dele’s thighs and ground down against it, legs going to jelly. Harry clutched at Dele’s hair, his shoulders, willing the doors to never open, but then they did, a little ding alerting them to their stop. 

Dele stepped back, chest heaving, and smiled at Harry. “Night, freckles,” he said, getting out of the lift and disappearing around the corner. 

Harry needed to take a few moments before he could go into his family’s hotel room, his head swimming with Dele Dele Dele. 

** 

“Where did you two get off to last night?” Harry’s mum asked at breakfast the next morning. 

“We just sat on the beach,” Harry said noncommittally. “Drank some sangria.” 

“That’s nice,” his mum replied, sipping her coffee. “Shame you missed Elvis, though.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, ignoring the kissy faces Millie was making across the table. “Next time.” 

When they got out to the pool the Hickfords - bar Dele - were all there, and Harry tried to tamp down his disappointment. He was doing his best to ignore his anxieties when Sally said “Harry, love? Dele’s up in the room. He said he’s got your charger and you’ve to go and get it off him.” 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, alright. Thanks, Sally.” 

“Room 205, 17th floor, love.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said, already on his way, ignoring the snorts of his sister. 

He could barely breathe on his way to the room, images of what they’d done in the lift playing behind his eyes, the taste of Dele’s tongue still heavy in his mouth. He got out at the 17th floor and nearly tripped over his own feet on the way to room 205, taking a deep breath and knocking on the door. 

It took a moment, but Dele pulled open the door, wet and with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Freckles,” he grinned, holding open the door for Harry to come inside. 

“Hey,” Harry said, tongue too heavy. “Hi. What -“ 

“I’m having a shower,” Dele said carefully, and Harry became aware of the sound of running water. “Have you had one yet today?” 

Harry always showered after the pool, so he shook his head, mouth dry. 

“Well, then. You can borrow mine,” Dele breathed, walking Harry backwards into the bathroom, into a cloud of steam; into thick, hot, damp air. “Shorts off,” Dele nodded, before pulling at the towel round his waist and letting it drop to the floor. 

Harry gaped at him. Dele was half hard, and covered in water droplets and so fucking sexy it wasn’t fair. Harry felt blood rushing to his dick, and he had to fight the instinctive urge in him to drop to his knees and shove his face into Dele’s crotch. 

Dele was watching him expectantly and Harry dropped his shorts slowly, his own dick fattening up before their eyes, curving upwards already, utterly delighted with the turn of events. 

“Big dick,” Dele said, and then he was kissing Harry again, just as good as last night - better, away from the prying eyes of Benidorm, dirtier, wetter and slower and so good. “Get in,” Dele said, and Harry did, climbing into the shower and stepping under the spray. Dele met him under the water and they kissed some more, and Harry was fully hard and every time he moved his hips just so he could feel that Dele was hard, hard as fuck, and that was so fucking hot - this was so fucking _hot._

“I want to taste that famous arse,” Dele murmured against Harry’s neck, and Harry didn’t know if he’d dreamed it so he didn’t answer, but then Dele grabbed a handful of ass cheek and said “Freckles? I want to eat you out, bro.” 

Harry gasped and nodded, and Dele spun him round and he put his hands against the slippery tiles, hoping he could stay up because how the fuck would they explain it if Harry needed an ambulance after lamping himself in the Hickford’s bathroom? 

Dele nudged Harry’s thighs apart and held his ass cheeks in both hands, and Harry could feel the water running down between them, down his back and over his hole and down his thighs, and he moaned into his arm when Dele kissed him, thinking that Dele clearly wasn’t straight whatsoever. Then Dele was licking at him - licking and sucking and stroking, and Harry’s cock was straining against his stomach, and he was moaning pretty loudly and saying bad words like fuck and shit into the wall, face smushed up, mouth open in ecstasy, the feeling of Dele’s mouth just so fucking good, so fucking hot. 

“Del,” he babbled incoherently. “Dele. I could come from this, I’m going to come from this.” 

“No,” Dele said, moving away, knees cracking as he got to his feet. “No, not like this.” 

Dele turned off the shower and guided Harry on shaky legs into the bedroom, kissing him in the middle of the room, the pair of them dripping water everywhere. Harry pushed at Dele’s chest until he was lying back on the bed, such a beautiful contrast to the white sheets, and he clambered up between Dele’s legs, kissing his toned stomach, all the way down to his hip bone, teeth grazing it. 

“I want to blow you,” Harry said, looking up at Dele from beneath his lashes. “Can I suck you?” 

“Never had a blow job off a guy,” Dele said, but his legs were falling apart more and his hands were fisting the sheets. 

Harry was good at giving head and he knew it. He sucked Dele in deep, mouth and hand working together, licking at the precome he’d leaked when he was eating Harry out and moaning when Dele’s cock twitched in his mouth, a hand sinking into his hair, making him feel like such a little slut. 

“That’s so fucking good,” Dele groaned, head falling back against the cushions. “Fuck, freckles. You look so fucking innocent,” Dele whined. “Look like such a nice boy, but you aren’t, nice boys don’t - oh, shit - nice boys don’t suck cock like this. God, you could - fuck, like that - you could teach my girlfriend a thing or two.” 

Harry preened, hips fucking down against the mattress, the bed creaking every time Harry humped it. If anyone came in at this exact moment they’d be scandalised - this would never be lived down - but Harry didn’t care, wouldn’t have cared if the whole of Benidorm burst in right then. 

“Shit, I’m gonna - I’m gonna fucking come,” Dele said. “Shit, Winksy.” 

The use of his actual name made Harry moan, hips pushing hard into the mattress, and Dele moved Harry’s head back, pulling him up the bed and flipping them so that Harry was on his back. 

“You get fucked like this?” Dele asked breathlessly, hands moving over Harry’s spread thighs. “Let men just have their way with you? You’re so fucking hot, even - even straight men like me, look at me, you’ve got me so fucking hot for you,” Dele said, sucking a bruise on Harry’s neck. Harry whimpered. “Got me so hard, ready to fucking come in your mouth, haven’t you? How do you do it, freckles? Got me eating you out in the shower, fucking letting me, letting me lick you out, fucking slut,” he opined, his dick sliding hard and wet against Harry’s, working up a rhythm. “Fucking think I didn’t notice you humping the bed, fucking desperate for it with a cock in your mouth?” 

“Dele,” Harry choked, fingers digging into his back. “Dele, I’m so close. I’m gonna -“ 

“Daddy’s little slut, aren’t you? My little slut. Look how hard you are, fucking dripping for me. No one else, just me, yeah? Don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” Dele said, biting Harry’s shoulder. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. So fucking eager, bet you’d let me do anything I wanted.” 

“Anything,” Harry moaned, eyelids fluttering. “Anything in the world.” 

“Somebody’s son, you are, someone’s baby, lying here letting strangers rub off against you,” Dele growled. “Gonna let me make myself come on you, baby?” 

Harry pressed his knees into the mattress, fucked his hips up against Dele’s stomach. 

“You let anyone do this to you at home, freckles? Tell me.” 

Harry moaned, the head of his cock bumping against Dele’s belly button. “My - my friend, Eric,” Harry sighed. “I want him to, sometimes. I wank off thinking about him, but he - he won’t let me -“ 

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Dele said into Harry’s ear, changing the angle and letting his cock bump against Harry’s hole. “Got you wanting it and he doesn’t do anything? Fucking idiot. You should be fucked constantly.” He pushed the head against the ring of muscles, not trying to penetrate him, but showing that he _could_. “I’d never let you out my fucking sight. Have you on my cock constantly. Have you hard and fucking needy for me, fuck, I’m _so fucking hard, Harry._” 

“Fuck, I can’t - it’s so good. Gonna come -“ 

“Course you are, course you’re gonna come, look at you, just look, so fucking filthy -“ 

Harry arched his back and came, streaking up his stomach and Dele’s, Dele’s name falling out of his mouth, digging hard enough to his back to break the skin. Dele fucked against him the entire time, through the sensitivity until he was coming too, mixing their come together like a dirty cake mix, streams of it pooling against Harry’s abdomen, up his chest. 

Dele collapsed next to him and they lay there panting for a while, neither able to speak. The aircon in the room was causing the come to cool on Harry’s chest and he grimaced, getting up gingerly and finding the towel Dele was wearing to wipe at himself. He brought it through and offered it to Dele, barely able to look him in the eye, but Dele was smiling happily and pulled Harry on top of him again, right back in the come, kissing Harry’s unimpressed moans out of his mouth. 

“That was amazing,” Dele sighed happily. “Amazing.” 

Harry let Dele pull him into a hug and he nodded against his collar bone, biting his lip. It was good, alright - too good. So good, Harry might be ruined for life. 

“What’s the matter, freckles?” 

“I go home tomorrow,” Harry said in a small voice. 

“Oh,” Dele said, fingers moving through Harry’s hair. “You don’t want to go? I thought you hated Benidorm.” 

Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat, willing himself not to cry. Of _course_ Dele didn’t feel the same. Of course it was just sex. “It’s not - it’s not that,” Harry said, but his voice was cracking, and he was losing it, and before he could stop it a sob escaped. 

“What - freck - Harry? Harry, talk to me,” Dele said, panicked, pulling Harry up to sitting. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m such an idiot,” Harry wailed. “I always get ahead of myself and I always get carried away and we did that and now I’m sad and I’ll never see you again and -“ 

“Woa, slow down,” Dele said, holding Harry by the shoulders. “Carried away? Never see me again? What?” 

Harry took a shuddering breath. “I just - I have a hard time. With sex. With just sex.” 

“Oh, baby,” Dele said, pulling him into another hug. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t - I’m sorry. I didn’t think you felt like this.” 

“Yeah, well,” Harry snuffled, embarrassed again. “Whatever. I’ll go, it’s fine, I’ll -“ 

“Wait,” Dele said, sitting Harry back again. “I - okay, so I’m not in love with you,” he started, and Harry’s face fell. “Wait! Hear me out. I do like you, though, Harry. I would see you again, in England. Maybe we can go see a Spurs game or something, yeah?” 

Harry pouted and looked down at their knees. “You’re only saying that so I’ll stop crying.” 

“No, freckles, I mean it,” Dele said earnestly. “I wouldn’t... I saw you, alright. In the hotel, the first day. Staring at me. I liked you the minute I saw you. I do want to keep in touch, I just have... lots of things to sort out, you know? But I - that wasn’t just sex, okay. I know I said last night about it being a holiday and anything goes, but that wasn’t just - I don’t go down on people lightly. Okay?” 

Harry looked at Dele, and he was blushing. His face was honest, his eyes wide and imploring, and Harry decided to believe him. He wanted to believe him. 

“Okay,” Harry said, wiping at his nose and smiling. “Alright.” 

“Here,” Dele said, getting up suddenly. “Give me your number.” 

** 

Harry was waiting for his bus to the airport the next day in the hotel bar, book open on the table, final glass of Fanta lemon in his hand. He’d spent the previous night kissing Dele on the beach, giving each other hand jobs in the sea. He couldn’t stop smiling, feeling so utterly blissed out and happy. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Eric what he’d done, and he couldn’t wait to speak to Dele every day until they met up in September (Harry was going to stay with Dele over Freshers week.) 

They’d kissed until the sun came up, and then they kissed outside Harry’s hotel door, and then they’d even stolen a couple in the chaplaincy after lunch. But now it was time for Harry to go home, and he smiled down at the love heart emoji Dele had just texted him. 

“Sorry, guys,” came a familiar voice, and Harry looked up to see Dele approaching their table, dressed only in his trunks. “I just had to say bye one more time.” 

Harry beamed up at him, a laugh bubbling in his chest. “Dele!” 

“I just want to say, Mrs Winks, Mr Winks - your son is amazing. He’s taught me a lot over the last few days, and I just - you should be so proud of him,” he said pointedly at Gary. “Millie, good luck with sixth form!” 

“Thanks, Dele.” 

“And freckles,” Dele said, pulling Harry to his feet. “Harry. I’ll see you in a couple of months.” 

“See you then,” Harry said, breathing in the smell of suncream and Dele that he’d come to love. “Can’t wait.” 

Dele held him at arms length, winked, and then he left again, and Harry watched him go with the most wonderful butterflies fluttering in his tummy. He sat down and absently touched the love bite on his neck, causing his dad to screw up his mouth and look the other way, and his mum and sister to cry “Awww!” 

Maybe Benidorm hadn’t been such a bad idea after all, Harry thought, already unlocking his phone, the biggest grin ever sliding onto his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope u enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love you all xxxxx


End file.
